


Christmas Cookies

by misura



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 01:04:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Napoleon makes cookies. Illya (reluctantly) helps.





	Christmas Cookies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [el_spirito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_spirito/gifts).



> didn't finish this quite in time, but it's still Christmas so ....
> 
> one tiny mention of naughtiness, otherwise 100% nice

There was a trick to getting Illya away from his work and his files and his special, special projects in the bathroom-turned-blackroom, and Napoleon decided that he would be a very poor excuse for a spy indeed if he hadn't figured it out by now.

Of course, given that Illya was _also_ a spy, knowing the trick was not quite the iron-clad guarantee of it also working Napoleon might have liked it to be. Still, what was life without a bit of uncertainty?

Like Christmas without a lavishly-but-tastefully decorated tree, presents or cookies.

Two out of those three having been taken care of, Napoleon had removed himself to the kitchen to tackle Christmas requirement number three.

 

Illya showed up with pleasing punctuality: after Napoleon had banged the pots and pans together for a bit, but before he'd resorted to breaking any plates.

Illya was scowling. Napoleon had decided to mentally label the expression as 'cute', which had greatly improved the enjoyment he got out of their relationship, as well as life in general. (He suspected Gaby had figured out the trick first, but had kept it to herself.)

"Perfect timing," Napoleon said, smiling a smile he rather believed Illya had labelled as 'annoying'. "Hold this, will you?"

Illya accepted being handed the butter, the sugar, the eggs, the spices but balked at the flour, thereby proving that one could never predict Russians. "I'm busy."

"So am I." Napoleon would have thought this to be obvious. Then again, given that Illya had more or less had to drag him into bed in order to make it clear that his intentions were not that honorable, Napoleon supposed that he was in no real position to throw stones.

Illya made a show of looking around the kitchen. Napoleon thought it was rather a nice one, considering. He'd half-worried about having to chop firewood for the oven.

"You did read the memo stating we got time off during the holidays, didn't you?" Napoleon wondered how such things worked in the Wonderful World of Illya Kuryakin. On the one hand, an official memo ordering him to have fun and relax. On the other hand, Illya's disinclination to do either. "You know, you're not in the KGB anymore, Peril."

Illya scowled a bit more, which Napoleon chose to take to mean Illya had been as fond of his boss in the KGB as Napoleon had been of his. "I read memo, yes. That does not mean there is not still work needs doing."

"Nothing urgent," Napoleon said, because nice guy or not, he didn't think Waverly would have let them enjoy a vacation while the world stood in imminent danger of getting blown up or something along those dire lines.

Illya dumped his armful of ingredients on the kitchen table. "Fine. You bake cookies, I work. Good compromise, yes?"

"Actually, now that you're up and about, would you mind getting me some wood?" Illya's expression turned non-plussed-but-ready-to-go-back-to-scowling. "For the oven," Napoleon clarified.

"Very well," Illya said, after a pause. "Wood for oven, then back to work."

"You're the best, Peril." Napoleon didn't add at what. The list had turned out to be rather longer than initially expected, which had been a pleasant surprise.

Illya grumbled something uncomplimentary in Russian.

 

Taking into account Illya's status as some sort of superhuman, the speed with which he returned did not disappoint. Fortunately, Napoleon had planned accordingly.

"Ah. Perfect timing. Can you put it inside and light it, please?"

Illya sighed, but did as he was told. Napoleon allowed himself a few seconds to imagine Illya being as pliant in bed as he was outside of it, before reality reasserted itself, pointing out that the present situation represented a carefully planned and flawlessly executed set-up, rather than a natural state of being.

"Wood oven. Very ineffective," Illya said. "Good chance your cookies will come out burnt."

Napoleon thought that was rather an exaggeration. "Don't worry. Like they say, if at first you don't succeed, try again. I've got enough ingredients to try four, maybe five times."

Illya scowled. "Can I go back to work now?"

"You could," Napoleon said. "Or you could stay and help me keep an eye on these cookies while enjoying some of this very nice wine I happened to find in the cellar." After acquiring it at an exorbitant price from a black market dealer, admittedly, but Napoleon saw no need to bring up such minor details.

Illya eyed the bottle with some suspicion. Napoleon wondered if it was the dust and cobwebs. He'd thought it would be a nice touch to suggest authenticity.

"You went to see Black Boris?"

Ah. _That_ kind of suspicion. Oh well, nice to know Illya had some contacts of his own in the region. "Don't tell me you did, too?"

Illya shrugged. He looked faintly embarrassed, which Napoleon decided was both new and delightful. "A bottle of something to celebrate. It seemed like the right thing to do."

"Peril, I'm touched. I really am."

Illya scowled. "Had to pull gun on him in order to get fair price."

Napoleon made a mental note not to bring up Illya next time he visited Boris. "So what do you say to a bit of early celebration?"

 

_epilogue_

Waverly eyed the cookies with what looked like unfeigned delight. "A wood oven, you said? My goodness."

"A small token of appreciation, sir," Napoleon said. "They turned out rather well, if I say so myself."

"Quite." Waverly said, nibbling. "And on your - sorry, was it the third or fourth try? I understand, naturally. Having someone like Kuryakin around - it must be very distracting."

"I have found him rather useful from time to time, if that's what you mean," Napoleon replied.

"Useful. The very word." Waverly nodded pleasantly. "Speaking of which, I think the two of you might make yourselves very useful in dealing with a small situation that has arisen - now where was it again? Never mind, I'm sure Gaby can tell you all about it."


End file.
